The Silvered by Tanya Huff Read Free Book Online Page A

an ambush. The road back to Bercarit was visible for some distance—allowing them to identify the last carriages—then climbed steeply, forcing the carriages to slow, the sharp turn at the top of the hill cutting them off from the rest of the evacuation. While there’d been signs of lumbering back away from the road, massive oaks still pressed in close on either side, providing stable platforms for the men with the tangles.
    Reiter had to admit, he saw Chard’s point about the artifacts. The delicate gold nets didn’t look like they could hold an infant let alone an adult, high-level mage.
    He’d known mages when he was a boy—an elderly woman with brown-flecked eyes whose garden fed half the village, a legless veteran with a few blue flecks who could make himself heard over distance—but he hadn’t seen one for years. There were probably a few selling their services in the capital because everything was for sale in Karis, but as far as he knew, none served under the Imperial banner. Science had replaced magic in the army. When soldiers carried fire-starters in their pockets, they had no need to waste time seeking out a Fire-mage. Even Colonel Korshan’s blasted rockets blew up over enemy lines more often than not.
    Science could do anything mage-craft could and, more importantly, anyone could use it.
    Given that he had six men in trees holding ancient magical artifacts, Reiter saw the irony in believing this fight had anything to do with the rise of intelligence and training over random talents caused by a lucky dice roll at birth.
    He’d just checked with Sergeant Black that everyone was in placewhen the first of the evacuees from Bercarit appeared, the cursing that came with them in Pyrahn working-class accents. Twice refugees, the poor bastards on the run again before the might of the Imperial army. Able to be first on the road because they could carry everything they owned on their backs. The funny thing was—although probably not funny for them, Reiter admitted—for the most part, they ran from rumor. While opposing armies were destroyed with brutal and practiced efficiency, the emperor preferred his conquered work force alive and working.
    Reiter settled more comfortably behind his screen of brush, aware that around him his men were doing the same. Their orders concerned the last few carriages only; the rest could pass.

    Tomas had wanted to return to the border immediately, but Ryder had ordered him to eat and sleep. His protests had been ignored; the Pack Leader’s word was law. So, hungry and exhausted, he’d done as he was told. He woke just before dawn, remembered Harry was dead, and he couldn’t believe he had to wait longer still. In fur, he watched Jaspyr head off on personal business—as though anyone with a nose didn’t know it was about a woman. He watched Ryder deal with half a hundred stupid, unimportant, petty details. Lip curled, he watched him
finally
say good-bye to his wife, and change to fur.
    Ryder snapped at him as he passed, but Tomas didn’t yield, merely fell in on his left flank as Jaspyr took the right, four distant cousins following behind. Once he was moving, the need that had been chewing at him, the need to return and make the bastards who’d killed Harry pay, began to ease. By the time they left the city, he’d given himself over to the run.
    Noses to the west, Ryder led them across country, cutting off the two large loops that eased the Border Road for carriages. Tomas had no clear memory of the route he’d run the night before, but they crossed his scent so instinct must have led him straight and true.
    He heard the artillery before he smelled the gunpowder. The wind was against them. Didn’t matter. The Imperial army stank, but their noses were useless.
    He tried not to think of what they were running toward. Tried notto think of bodies blown to pieces. Of silver slamming bloody holes through fur. Of Harry. He thought of running, and of revenge, and how Ryder